Page 98 of My Merry Mistake
She meant it.
Secretly, I’m glad they’re coming. Not only have I been struggling to staynotbusy, but it’s been a long time since we’ve hung out, just the three of us.
They show up together, armed with snacks and drinks, both wearing Comets hoodies I assume belong to their significant others. They storm into my house, Hurricane Harts, and Poppy sets up a spread of snacks that looks like it could feed a small army.
Eloise pulls a bottle of Dr Pepper from her bag, opens it, and takes a drink. “I thought we were going to be late. Poppy insisted on stopping at the grocery store, and we ran into Jan Potter, and you know how she talks.” She turns toward my living room. “Why isn’t the TV on?”
I frown. “Because you guys just got here.”
She rushes into the room, picks up the remote, and clicks on the television. “But the game”—she stops flipping channels and sets the clicker back on the table—“is starting.” She grins. “Look, there’s Gray!”
“I thought we were going to watch a rom-com,” I say. “I think27 Dressesis streaming. We love that one.’”
Eloise turns to Poppy. “Didn’t you tell her about the game?”
Poppy waves a hand over the spread of food. “No, El, I was a little busy.”
Eloise looks at me. “Do you want us to leave? We could go watch at Poppy’s, or?—”
“No, it’s fine.” I glance at the screen just as they pan across the team warming up out on the ice. I squint, searching the jerseys for the one that says “Holbrook.”
What am I doing?
I look away, but not in time for my curiosity to go unnoticed. Eloise quirks a brow, but I ignore her and walk into the kitchen. “Can I help?”
Poppy shakes her head. “Just go sit.”
“I’m so tired of sitting.”
She eyes me.
“Please? Something little. I can handle bringing a bowl from the kitchen to the living room.”
She smiles, capitulates, and slides a tray of veggies over to me.
“Thank you. I hate not being at least somewhat useful.”
“I know,” Poppy says. “But it really is the best thing for you right now.”
Eloise grabs a handful of nuts from the charcuterie board Poppy is arranging, messing up the neatly stacked arrangement and eliciting an “El!” from Poppy.
Eloise is oblivious. “How many times have you called work?”
“Only a few.” I pull a bottle of water from the fridge, hold it up with raised brows, and Poppy nods. I hand it to her then grab one for myself. “It’s pointless, though. Nobody will take my calls, and they locked me out of my email.”
Poppy laughs out loud. “Epic.”
“It’s awful,” I say. “I know they care about my mental health, but good grief.” I pause. “Also, I think my boss is trying to make a point about me taking direction. Apparently, I have a tendency to do things my own way.”
They both stare at me.
“What?”
“Do not pretend you don’t know this about yourself,” Poppy says.
I only shrug, because yes, I do know this.
We load up plates, and once again, they try to convince me that this time off is doing wonders for my nervous system, which I mostly ignore. Poppy goes on a little tangent about something called “adrenal fatigue,” which sounds totally made up—another buzzword—and a way for wellness influencers to convince you something else is wrong with you. But during a commercial break, I Google it, scan a few articles, and start to change my mind.
